


sleigh bells in the snow

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Christmas, Cinderella Elements, Costume Parties & Masquerades, I know nothing about anything, M/M, Prince Derek Hale, Prince Stiles Stilinski, Royalty, Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-22 12:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17059445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: Stiles took a deep breath, feeling the chill of winter deep in his lungs. It had always been his favorite time of year and his father had indulged him at a young age, allowing him to arrange an annual Yule celebration. But now, at almost twenty, it was time to start taking on more responsibility.Lydia, always intuitive, nudged him gently. “Nothing is changing right this instant. We have time to enjoy ourselves,” she said.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hale_hounds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hale_hounds/gifts).



> Based off of another one of @softpeachss amazing ideas

  

 

“Are you ready, My Lord?”

Stiles turned from where he was adjusting his mask in the burnished mirror. “What’s with the title, Scotty?”

“You were supposed to say it back,” Scott griped. “I have to get used to being titled.”

“Right.” Even after years of friendship, Stiles would probably never understand how Scott’s brain worked. “You look good.”

 “Do you think it’s enough to impress the Argents?” Scott picked at his fancy blue suit, the fabric specifically selected to match the Stilinski crest.

Stiles straightened the silver circlet perched in his friend’s curly hair. “You know that Allison is head over heels for you.”

“But her father doesn’t approve of a werewolf marrying into the family.” Scott reached up to touch the circlet and Stiles swatted his hands away.

“Well, a title isn’t going to take away the furry problem.”

The Delgados, while extremely wealthy, hadn’t been part of the gentry. At least until Lady Melissa married King John of Beaconia in a beautiful summer celebration. Stiles had helped plan the event, so maybe he was a bit biased.

“What is taking so long?” Lydia asked from the doorway.

Stiles threw up his hands. “These are my royal chambers. Why does nobody knock?”

Rolling her eyes, Lydia swept into the room. She was clad in the deep green of the Martin kingdom, her mask and crown adorned with glittering emeralds.

“Mother and I came all the way from Perspicientia and you boys are still fussing with your hair.”

Though her tone was teasing, Stiles could still hear everything she didn’t say. The night marked the end of an era, perhaps. Lydia was betrothed, Scott was sort of courting, and Stiles was meant to be making connections suitable for marriage.

“We’re young and free, might as well waste time as we see fit.” Stiles offered his arm, smiling as she took it.

He’d been infatuated with her as a child, the gorgeous and smart princess from over the mountains. But they were both heirs to their respective thrones, and even if they weren’t better as friends, the logistics of running two kingdoms never would have been an option.

Scott jokingly took Stiles’ other arm, jolting him back to the present. “Let’s make it a good night.”

Stiles took a deep breath, feeling the chill of winter deep in his lungs. It had always been his favorite time of year and his father had indulged him at a young age, allowing him to arrange an annual Yule celebration. But now, at almost twenty, it was time to start taking on more responsibility.

Lydia, always intuitive, nudged him gently. “Nothing is changing right this instant. We have time to enjoy ourselves,” she said.

“You always were the wisest of us.” Stiles grinned at her, trying to bury the melancholy feeling.

As they moved deeper into the castle, the buzz of the crowd became audible. Stiles had invited the royals and politicians of neighboring countries, as well as the lords and ladies and business people of Beaconia. The staff had spent days pinning tinsel and silver decorations around the ballroom and great hall.

Once they reached the balcony above the ballroom, Scott squeezed his arm slightly and fell half a step behind Stiles and Lydia, a distinction of being untitled. Stiles shook his head.

“Oh no you don’t, My Lord.”

Lydia snorted and pushed past the both of them. “I expect at least one dance each,” she said, before stepping out onto the balcony.

The guests fell silent as she entered, casting a cool eye over the room. She nodded at the people gathered below, then swept down the stairs with her back straight as a poker. Stiles felt the familiar awe at her poised grace. Lydia was truly a queen through and through.

“With me.” Stiles tugged Scott beside him, and the two stepped out into sight of the crowd.

Immediately, every head turned to them. Stiles knew he stood out among the other men, clad in the snowy white and silver of Beaconia. Maybe he was a bit dramatic, but Stiles liked the distinction.

“Good evening,” he said, voice echoing across the room. “Beaconia welcomes you to our annual Yule Celebration. Together, we enjoyed another year of peace and prosperity. Hopefully, the cok’ing year will bring even more.”

He turned to Scott with a smile. “On another note, it is my pleasure to introduce to you all my brother, Prince Scott Alejandro Delgado-Stilinski.”

A murmur ran around the room. King John’s decision to adopt Scott as a second son was one that was met with raised eyebrows from other nations, but Stiles agreed with his father. There was no one he’d rather have as a brother or advisor.

“Please, enjoy the festivities.”

He stepped back from the balcony railing. Scott was beaming, clearly searching out Allison in the mass of faces below.

Stiles guided him toward the stairs. “Ready to dance?”

“Is Allison here?” Scott asked, following Stiles down the grandiose staircase.

At the bottom of the stairs, Scott slipped off into the crowd. Stiles watched him go with a shake of his head, then rubbed his freezing hands together. He’d forgotten his gloves in his room and the hall was drafty.

“Prince Stilinski,” a voice called, and Stiles forced a smile onto his face. Time to play his role as gracious host.

He turned to greet the Lord and Lady of their border lands, then found himself called to the next group. The greetings and formalities were familiar, but Stiles found his attention drawn to the few unfamiliar faces among the sea of people he saw at least once a year.

As he exchanged words with Merchant Finstock about the increasing price of goat’s milk, he spotted Lydia dancing with a petite woman in a dark red gown. At first, Stiles thought nothing of it. But then he saw a slightly older woman wearing the same dark red and black. Even over Chris Argent’s comments on the lack of armed guards, Stiles could hear her loud and boisterous laugh as she stood with Prince Boyd and Lord Isaac.

The final coincidence was a tall man, hunched in a far corner as if he were trying to blend into the wall. He wore a dark red suit coat and a heavy golden crown. The two women had similar distinctive crowns, heavy gold and studded with rubies. But if all three were royal, then Stiles should’ve definitely known who they were.

But nothing about the three of them seemed familiar.


	2. Chapter 2

 

“May I request the pleasure of your next dance, Your Highness?”

Stiles snapped out of his daze. Harris was talking his ear off about some kind of agriculture regulation and Stiles was frankly falling asleep on his feet.

Gratefully, he took Lydia’s arm.

“Merchant Harris,” he addressed the man before him. “I understand that you have concerns about the new regulatory measures, so perhaps the next course of action is to file a formal request with one of your legislators.”

“Wait, My Prince.” Harris made an aborted attempt to grab his shoulder, but Lydia’s glare was acerbic enough to halt him where he stood.

“Your legislators have more sway over the laws in your area than a prince at a party,” Lydia said haughtily. “If your goal was to go over their heads, you truly know nothing about your own government.”

“Lyds,” Stiles breathed, tugging her toward the dance floor. He didn’t need to be making enemies with Beaconia’s least pleasant businessman.

 She huffed, taking his hand in her gloved one. “He’s an imbecile.”

“Not arguing.” Stiles fell easily into the steps of the dance. He frowned at Lydia’s expression. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she looked besotted.

But after catching her eyes straying over to the same corner for the third time, he realized she was looking toward where the woman she had shared a dance with earlier was arguing with the unfamiliar man. Their features were similar, siblings perhaps?

“Hang on,” he spun her, then they swayed together. “That woman that you were dancing with. You’re making moon-eyes at her.”

Lydia immediately stepped on his foot. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said primly, but Stiles could see the color rising beneath her perfect makeup.

“You’re _blushing_.” Stiles could barely contain his glee. At least until he remembered that she was already betrothed, and his heart broke for her. “Oh, Lydia.”

“No, Stiles. She’s the one.” The soft smile Lydia directed at the corner was one that Stiles had never seen.

He held her close as the song came to an end. “I’m so happy for you.”

She leaned into the embrace. “Would you come meet her?” she asked, and Stiles couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Of course.” He knew very little about Lydia’s intended, just that they were third in line to their throne and born in the same season as Stiles, Scott, and Lydia. “I don’t even know what country she is from.”

Pulling back, Lydia darted a glance at her betrothed. “She’s Lycan.”

Stiles froze. The Lycans were from a kingdom high in the mountains. They were werewolves, mysterious and secretive and rarely spotted outside of their borders. No wonder Stiles knew nothing of the three visitors.

“How did you-”

Lydia stepped on his foot again. “Hush. Not here.”

Eyes watering, Stiles nodded. Maybe he should begin wearing work boots to these events.

“Can I at least get the name of the woman you’re so enamored with?”

This time, Stiles was quick enough to dodge Lydia’s heels. She huffed. “Princess Coraline.”

Around them, couples swayed to the next number and Stiles tucked Lydia’s hand into the crook of his arm.

“Introduce me?”

Lydia smiled that soft smile again and led him off of the dance floor. Both Lycans looked up as they approached, the princess’ eyes fixed on Lydia.

She only spared Stiles a glance when Lydia said, “Princess Coraline, this is my dear friend Prince Mieczysław of Beaconia.”

Stiles made a face at the title. “Please, call me Stiles.” He dropped Lydia’s arm, letting her step away.

The Lycan princess grinned at him, relaxing. “Then I am Cora.”

She nudged the man beside her. “This is Prince Derek, my elder brother.” The man nodded politely but made no move to speak. Cora rolled her eyes and gestured toward the dancers. “Our sister, Princess Laura, is with her betrothed.”

When Stiles looked, he saw the eldest Hale tugging a woman clad in armor out onto the floor. He blinked in surprise. That was General Braeden, one of Argent’s closest advisors. Judging by the fond look on the General’s face, it was both a strategic alliance and a love match, something Stiles was desperately hoping for.

As Lydia and Cora were lost to conversation, Stiles sidled up to Prince Derek. He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Are you having a marvelous time?”

Prince Derek turned to him. His mask was still in place, but Stiles was immediately taken by his blue-green and golden flecked eyes, and the smirk playing on his lips. “Yes, I’m quite enjoying myself. You have some... lively guests.” He nodded over to where Lady Erica was arm wrestling both Lords Ethan and Aidan.

Stiles snorted. Erica was one of his father’s knights, fierce and brash and beautiful. Lord Isaac had adopted her as his sister, granting her lands and a title worthy of marriage to his best friend, Prince Boyd. The two were a true love match.

“And your tree.” Prince Derek added, drawing Stiles’ attention back to him. “It is gorgeous.” He gestured at the lush evergreen that stood almost as tall as the ceiling, adorned in gold and red and white ornaments with a simple golden star at the top.

Stiles felt himself fall even harder. “It is my favorite time of year,” he said quietly. “People aren’t usually fond of the cold and snow, but it makes me feel so happy and at peace.”

The Prince was watching him with those mesmerizing eyes. “Maybe you could show me?”

So, for the first time in a decade, Stiles abandoned the sparkling brightness of the Yule Celebration and stepped out into the gathering twilight. Prince Derek had taken his arm, allowing himself to be escorted through the Great Hall, marveling at the décor. The snow crunched beneath their shoes as they wandered through the maze of hedges and frosted trees.

Pausing before the frozen reflecting pool at the center of the gardens, Stiles finally broke the silence.

“Your Highness-”

The prince caught one of Stiles’ frozen hands in both of his. “Derek. Please.”

“Derek,” Stiles was glad for the cold already bringing color to his cheeks. “I wanted to ask about the winters in Lycan.”

Derek was quiet for a while, gathering Stiles’ other hand into his warm grip. “My father died in winter.” He looked out over the snow-covered grounds, painted silver in the moonlight. “It always seemed so empty and cold.”

Feeling unsensitive, Stiles opened his mouth to apologize. But the words died in his throat when he saw Derek smiling back, mask tucked away into the depths of his pockets. He was stunning.

“Perhaps I just needed someone to show me how beautiful it could be.”

And perhaps it was trite, but Stiles leaned in anyway. Derek’s lips were softer than he expected, and Stiles found himself drawn like a moth to flame. He slipped his numb hands beneath the warmth of Derek’s open coat, tugging him closer.

When they parted, their breath billowed away in white clouds. Snowflakes were drifting gently around them and Stiles felt trapped in a spell of snow and cold and _Derek_.

The moment was shattered by a shout from the castle. “Derek! We must be going!”

The new smile on Derek’s face was even more breathtaking, his lips kissed red and his nose and cheeks rosy from the cold. Snowflakes clung to the tips of his eyelashes and Stiles couldn’t think of having seen anything more beautiful in his entire existence.

“Derek!” the voice came again.

With a sigh, Derek brushed his lips against Stiles’ cheek before tugging his mask back into place. He set off toward the castle at a run, leaving Stiles standing in the middle of the gardens, still feeling the tingle of Derek’s touch on his skin.

He probably would have stayed there all night, if not for Melissa calling his name.

“What were you thinking?” she scolded, wrapping her long blue cape over top of his white one. “I don’t care how pretty it is, you’ll freeze out there.”

Stiles followed her back inside. He spent the rest of the night dancing, filling champagne glasses, and wishing his guests a happy evening with a love-struck smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable (tumblr) link [HERE!](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com/post/181447188232/sleigh-bells-in-the-snow-ch-%C2%BC-stiles-took-a)


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